Through the Window
by by candlelight
Summary: He stood up and assumed that the girl was just curious about the shape of the mark. There couldn't have been any other reason, right?


**This is quite short, but it was something that had been eating away at my mind for ages, and I had to write it. I think the message of it came through quite well, but that is really for you to decide, isn't it?**

**By the way, if any of you think that this is familiar, I _am_ Curlyandluvinit. So, no worries! **

**JK Rowling owns everything here except for the small plot of this oneshot.**

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**Through the Window**

Eight-year-old Harry Potter sat in the waiting area of a small boutique in central London, watching as his aunt tried on one fanciful dress after another. In his opinion, none of them severely changed Petunia's resemblance to a giraffe, but saying so out loud would earn him a smack on the back of his hand, something that he certainly wanted to avoid. Beside him his cousin Dudley, also eight, crammed crisps into his mouth from the handful he had snuck out of the bag on the saleslady's desk. Disgusted, Harry turned from his large cousin to the window, wishing fervently that he could be anywhere but where he was at that moment.

Suddenly, something caught his eye. A flash of red. And then another.

It turned out to be two boys, around ten, who looked exactly alike as they ran down the crowded street. They were followed by a girl who looked to be about seven, her own bright red hair whipping behind her as she tried to catch up to, as Harry assumed, her brothers. As she neared the boys, she tripped on the untied shoelaces of one of her trainers and fell smack on her stomach, causing the adults around her to shake their heads disapprovingly before continuing to walk away, without so much as lending the girl a hand to help her get to her feet.

She got up on her own however, and didn't seem to be hurt, although the deep blush slowly covering her face showed Harry that she was incredibly embarrassed to have fallen. She walked to the ledge in front of the window that Harry happened to be looking out of, and propping her foot up on it, bent down and began to tie her laces.

Finishing, she straightened her back and took a step towards the window, smoothing her hair in its reflection. She took a second step closer, and then froze.

It was then that Harry realized that he had been staring unashamedly at her the whole time, and he felt a blush come onto his own cheeks as he caught her eyes. They were deep brown, and they traveled from his own green ones to his embarrassingly long fringe, under which his unusual scar was hardly noticeable. Unfortunately, somebody happened to open the door to the boutique at that moment, and the wind coming from the blustery autumn day blew his hair about, revealing the lightening-bolt shaped mark.

The girl's eyes widened, her strawberry-blond eyebrows raised to their highest point. She clapped a freckled hand to her mouth and took a step back. Slowly moving her hand away from her face, she said something that Harry could not make out but could only imagine was being yelled. Sure enough, he saw the two identical boys from before running up to her, and not knowing what else to do, he ducked.

He could still see her face as he sat slumped in his seat (although she could not see his, he was sure), and he noted that she looked thoroughly confused. She said something to the boys, pointing to the window, and they looked in, shocked, before shaking their heads and ruffling their sister's hair. She looked incredibly annoyed, but reluctantly started to walk back in the direction that her brothers were already starting to run in.

But before she caught up to them, she turned back and looked at the window once more, searching it desperately with a pained facial expression. Her face fell, and she turned and resumed walking to the twins.

Once Harry knew she was far enough away, he sat back up again. Catching his own reflection in the mirror, he pushed away his bangs, expecting to see something different, something odd. But all he saw was the same old forehead with the same old scar.

And as his aunt called him, telling him harshly that they were leaving, he stood up and assumed that the girl was just curious about the shape of the mark.

There couldn't have been any other reason, right?

He looks back and can't believe how naive he was at that age.


End file.
